


Like A Torch

by Aichi



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Burnish Armor Fucking, Large Insertion, Other, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 00:30:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21419230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aichi/pseuds/Aichi
Summary: Lio spends some quality time alone with his armor.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Promare
Comments: 20
Kudos: 130





	Like A Torch

**Author's Note:**

> HI OKAY I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS A) MY FIRST NON-TCG-ANIME FIC ON HERE AND B) NOT EVEN ANY OF THE 1000 LIOGALO IDEAS I WAS GOING TO WRITE. INSTEAD YOU GET. WHATEVER THIS IS.
> 
> Small extra warning: this is framed as "selfcest", because it's pre-movie, Lio doesn't know what a promare is yet, and this is how he's chosen to understand it. He's doing his best.

Lio hasn’t been truly alone in a long time. None of the Burnish have. It should feel weird to see your own face looking back at you from anywhere other than a mirror, but then again, not everyone has two faces. Their flames are alive inside all of them, always talking and singing and bathing their hands and hearts in warmth as they burn and burn and burn together. Even cast out to the fringes of society, even taking shelter in the hollowed-out skeleton of an abandoned building, there is no _being alone_ when you’re Burnish.

The face looking back at Lio is both _his_ and _not._ He’s used to seeing the armor from the inside, but when it faces him like this he’s struck by the way the intersecting panels of its visor make it look as though it has a mouth of its own, one permanently pulled into a fierce and dangerous smile. It serves his image well as Mad Burnish’s leader, but he’d never chosen the design consciously; the flames had simply wreathed themselves around him and moulded to his will, as they do always, ever since they became one with him. He’s not sure when that was, anymore. It must have been _years_, and his human face hasn’t changed in all this time, and he can barely begin to imagine how unfathomably empty his life must have been without their song always flowing through his mind. The flames are a part of him, and he a part of them. Their lives are intertwined now; he’ll burn out when they do, and they when he does. They go together or not at all.

Despite the cold night breeze and the derelict building’s apparent lack of insulation, Lio’s naked body is burning hot. He’s always burning, and not just under his skin, now; the huge metallic form crouched over him literally radiates heat, more and more until the air feels heavy with it and even the creaky bed and its worn old mattress seem comfortable and welcoming as Lio leans back into them. This empty shell of a place was a motel at some point, probably, but now a few sad, broken pieces of furniture are the only reminders of that long-forgotten past.

He’ll burn it all to ashes when he leaves, food for the ever-hungry flames. Let the land here give birth to something new.

The bed sags further as the armor leans over him, and he reaches a hand up to its face, delicately tracing the sharp edge of its jaw. Pink sparks trail after his fingers, reflecting and flickering across the dark, flame-forged surface, and when it tilts its head into his touch, just a little, he lets his hand slide down its neck, following the angular shapes of its body until his palm finds its huge, broad chest. It’s almost ethereal, the way his skin brushes the not-quite-metal, practically gliding over it as if there was no friction at all, their temperatures matching and melding perfectly with one another. One existence in two bodies.

There are no eyes behind the armor’s translucent, tooth-like visor, only the pure essence of the flames themselves, crackling and whispering and echoing around the inside of their shell. It’s the same constant, comforting murmur that Lio hears in his mind every day, and he wants nothing more than to pull it closer to him, for that visor to split open like the maw it so resembles and swallow him up, letting him sink into it and become one with himself again.

“Go on,” he breathes, even though their souls are one and the flames know full well the depth of his desires.

Clawed hands curl around his bare thighs as the armor draws back, straightens, pushing his legs up and apart as it positions itself. Lio’s hand drops back to his side, momentary disappointment tugging at his heart with the loss of contact, but he wills himself to relax, to endure the temporary distance, to let the tension in his body loosen as the armor lines itself up.

He’s well prepared, of course, but it doesn’t stop him from crying out as the armor’s dick pushes into him.

It _burns_, and not just with heat. Lio’s whole body quakes with the effort of simply _containing it_ as it moves, slowly but insistently, further and further inside him. Between the lubricant he’d used earlier and the sleek nature of the armor’s surface, the obstacle isn’t resistance so much as just _size_, and suddenly Lio’s skin itself feels far too tight. Hands fisting furiously in the threadbare sheets beneath him, he groans softly as the pressure swells in his abdomen, and above him the flames sing in response. He doesn’t need to summon the strength to lift his head to know that his own dick is starting to react too, or that his stomach is visibly distended; it just feels so _full_, in a way that should have been unbearably painful if he wasn’t one with it, if his body wasn’t already feeding those flames every day of his life. One leg jerks reflexively, and the armor’s claws tighten around it, digging in just enough to squeeze the flesh but not enough to break skin.

He knows his limits, and the flames know him, inside and out, and so nothing they do to him will ever truly hurt.

Back arching and hair splaying messily against the bed, he lets out another shameless moan as the armor finally settles in place, nestled comfortably inside of him with what Lio knows isn’t quite its full length, but still feels impossibly big, as if it could tear his skin like wrapping paper if it pushed a single inch further – and then it pulls back, and he sobs bitterly at the sudden emptiness. Pleasure ripples in its wake as it moves, and his fingers claw needily at the sheets as he both revels in the sensation and mourns the hollow it leaves behind, the severing of the most intimate connection to his other self.

A second later, though, it’s back, moving more easily this time as his body adjusts to the sheer size of it, and his hips roll rhythmically to meet it as it slides back and forth, again and again and again. The armor’s visor is alight with flames, triangular panels flickering pink and green as they lick fervently at the inside of the suit, and, as Lio locks eyes with his own reflection, the two of them are, in that moment, more _one_ than they have ever been, senses melding into an exhilarating blend of human and fire.

They’ve never burned so bright as they are right now, Lio writhing and keening with the dual sensations of fucking and being fucked, of feeling _everything_ at once; both the sweet ebb and flow of being filled over and over _and _the warm grasp of his own insides as if they were wrapped around his human dick, the one that’s still standing hard and untouched between his legs. The fire roars louder and louder in his soul with every stroke, with every slow but inevitable bulge of his stomach, with every momentary yet painful withdrawal, and every joyous reunion, and his heart beats fast and heavy as he stretches himself to the limit just to keep up with _being alive_.

_Harder_, he urges, wordless and yet perfectly understood.

The entire bed creaks and shudders with the next stroke, and Lio’s groan turns into a howl as he clenches furiously around the armor’s dick, around _his own_ dick, his hips twitching uselessly, caught between the desire to push back against the length inside him or to thrust up against nothing. The decision is made for him, _by_ him, as the armor thrusts again, and again, and suddenly Lio is arching and burning and coming, his vision lost in a haze of blinding, colourful sparks as his still-untouched dick splatters a white mess over his stomach and chest.

He can almost see it happen, through the armor’s visor; a blurry half-formed image of his small, tousle-haired human self, flushed and twisting and jerking helplessly as he comes all over himself, before finally collapsing into a spent, exhausted mess.

It takes some time before he’s even able to see clearly through his own eyes after that, let alone move again, as he slowly untangles his senses from those of his other self. The armor’s length stays sheathed inside him all the while, as he blinks slowly and tests each of his limbs in turn to make sure they’re really connected to him. The persistent tightness does little to help calm his heart, but he’s thankful for the continued closeness, and it quickly grows to be relaxing.

The fire sings softly, in a way that almost sounds like giggling, and gently, lovingly, it trails an armored claw down his chest, tracing a line through the mess his orgasm left behind.

Lio reaches up to meet it, and his hand is shakier than expected as he curls his fingers weakly around its wrist. It would have understood him even without the gesture, of course, but the armor lets him lead, unsteady as he is, as he brings the claws to his mouth. A single lick is enough to clean away most of the sticky white residue, but he eases it fully between his lips anyway, relishing the curved sleekness of it against his tongue, and even though the sensation is rapidly fading, he still imagines that he can feel the tongue sliding between his own fingers too.

Closing his eyes, Lio matches the flames’ call with a quiet hum of his own, and as he does, the armor begins to melt away, softening just a little before its form loses integrity altogether and it collapses in on itself, a brilliantly colored blaze that sinks back into his throat and skin and body and soul as it really, truly becomes one with him again.

And just like that, it’s gone, and Lio is left lying on an old and broken bed in an old and broken building, alone, and yet not alone, with the voice of his other soul singing inside him.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I had to make this ship tag all on my own.
> 
> Twitter: @cosmowreath


End file.
